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The passage is narrow and smells of damp minerals. Farther up ahead is a solid wall of shadow. I keep my hand against the wall as I venture deeper in. My vision adjusts, but the shadows are so thick it’s still difficult to see.
Then the wall curves and the sound of battle fades in the distance. I am surrounded by an eerie quiet. Around the bend, it continues on for several yards before leading to a winding stairwell. At the top, sallow light flickers as if disturbed by a slight breeze right where the steps turn out of sight.
I race up. After what must be several levels, I realize there must be only a single exit. When we make it to the top, there is a single door left ajar. It sways from a breeze coming through the room beyond.
“I will make sure the way is clear.” Asmod slithers through the opening. It can’t be more than a few seconds before they return, but it feels like minutes. Their head pokes into view. “The queen’s chambers—it is safe.”
Despite the demon snake’s warning, coming out into the excessively opulent parlor is disorienting. Directly ahead is the table where Elizabeth sat and asked me in veiled words to end my life for her pride’s sake. But between that and the fireplace is something I had not noticed the last time I was here.
The faint crease of an outline in the damask wallpaper, the size and shape of the door we just passed through, and a small divot in the wainscoting. I hook a finger into the cavity and pull. It gives easily. Beyond is the landing of yet another narrow stairwell.
I hesitate, unsure if I should go up or down. Without knowing how close we are to catching up, I cannot risk speaking.
Asmod slithers forward, facing down. Their tongue flickers out, then they turn and taste the air in the other direction. The demon looks to me, motioning with their head for me to follow.
We climb. Slower this time. I am careful to keep my footsteps as silent as possible. It isn’t long before we make it to the top. Elizabeth must have been in a hurry because she has done a poor job covering her tracks. Or perhaps it’s a trap, and I am walking right into it.
Rattling chains and harsh whispered commands come from the other side of the door. I inch closer and peek through the cracks between the slats of wood, warped by time.
A frigid breeze pierces through, carrying the scent of winter air. Sconces are lit every few feet along the wall of the circular room.
There is a workbench covered with glass bottles and vials of all shapes, sizes, and colors, spread out in no discernible order. They hold an array of liquids, crushed plants, and an assortment of objects, including small animal bones. Bunches of herbs hung with twine, dry above the workspace. I wonder if this is where Elizabeth has her poisons created.
My heart leaps into my throat. Near the edge, Cherno is trapped beneath a bell-shaped glass dome. Their wings beat uselessly against it.
The Voice walks over to stand before it, gathering what she needs, mixing and measuring. She turns, holding a cup in her hands. Her wide sleeves fall back, exposing one thick bracelet on each wrist. I frown at the strangeness of it.
But my attention is stolen by Alaric. He stands against the wall with an expression between confusion and anger. A window, built into the vaulted ceiling, is propped open, letting the frigid night air inside.
“Now,” Elizabeth commands with a snap of her fingers. The Voice hurries over and holds out the vial with a small amount of blue, syrupy liquid. She snatches it impatiently and presses it against Alaric’s mouth. “Drink.”
Whatever it is, it can’t be good.
When he doesn’t immediately comply, she forces it past his lips, and with her other hand, she grabs his jaw and forces his head up. That is when I finally see the night-forged silver collar around his neck. Both his arms are bound behind his back. Alaric coughs and sputters on the potion. I am not sure what she’s doing to him, but I will put a stop to it.
I adjust my weapons and motion to Asmod to stay put, then carefully guide the door open and slip through.
Elizabeth turns as I step inside. Her nostrils flare with her temper.
“Why does it not surprise me that you have found your way here? You are like a cockroach. Difficult to kill—” The corners of her mouth curl up. “—but not impossible.”
It only takes two strides for her to reach me. She lifts a silver-taloned hand and swipes at my jugular. Varin jerks my body to the side, dodging.
The sharp caps on her fingertips glance off the choker of metal thorns and grate against my shoulder and down my upper arm. I suck in a hiss of air through my teeth.
She glowers, chest heaving, and poises to strike again.
I leap out of the way, but this time I am not her target.
Elizabeth’s fingers curl into wicked claws, pressing against the thin band of exposed skin at Alaric’s neck above the metal collar.
He doesn’t move or react, and his eyes hold a vacant stare.
“What have you done to him?” I demand.
“Make one more move and I will rip his throat out.” Elizabeth’s metal-tipped fingers press in, causing thin rivulets of blood to trickle down his neck. She smirks when I am frozen into inaction. “Good. Now, drop your little weapon.”
I hesitate.
